Memento Mori
by paper smiles
Summary: Of all the places that Connor could have left Murphy alone in, life was definitely not one of them.


For this to work, the ending of the first movie is different. They never found out that Il Duce was their father, Roc died, but they did get Yakavetta (though some of the dudes in the house did manage to get away.), meaning the trial never happened and they were never revealed to the public.

And a huge thank you to Beka for beta-ing this.

This is my first attempt at writing in this fandom. No one has any idea how scared I am of not doing the boys justice. Concrit would be amazing.

On with the fic~

* * *

The night fell on them as they made their way towards the rundown apartment building they called home. The smell of piss and liquor filled the air while bright neon signs began lightning up like stars along the dark street. Homeless men and women lay around the staircases of various establishments careful not to make any kind of eye contact with either of the twins. Word got around fast; the MacManus brothers were dangerous.

Connor and Murphy neared their building but continued walking when they reached it. Both had realized they were being followed since they began their walk home. They had exchanged looks at one point, silently agreeing to continue walking until they reached an alley where darkness would cloak them and they could use it to figure out who the hell it was tailing them.

What they didn't expect was for the mysterious person trailing them to be one step ahead of them. When the brothers turned the corner they were ambushed. A pair of unknown hands grabbed Murphy by his hair and slammed him into the nearest wall while Connor was taken down by a man in a plaid shirt. A lack of public lighting on the street made all the attacker's faces unrecognizable.

Instinctively, Murphy reached for the gun he had tucked into the back of his jeans. In a flash he turned to face his two attackers and shot in their direction. The one to his right was hit by one of the bullets and screamed out in agony, exposing a golden front tooth. The man took off running and the other didn't hesitate to follow. Murphy chased after them, yelling out every obscenity in as many languages as he knew. The two were far ahead of him and rounding a corner when he remembered there was something he'd left behind.

Connor.

He halted to a stop and ran back to his brother in a matter of seconds. He found his twin where he had been tackled. Blood seeped through his jeans as he stared at the sky in a pained daze.

"Connor!" Murphy yelled as he kneeled beside him. He wasted no time in hoisting his brother to his feet and helping him move towards the direction they'd come from. Any and all thoughts of the men who attacked them were wiped from his mind as soon as he'd seen his fallen twin. Once back up in their flat he laid Connor onto one of the two mattresses and picked up a discarded shirt.

"Where is it?" he asked as he kneeled beside the bed.

"Just a scratch. S'okay, Murph." Connor weakly gestured to his left thigh. Murphy nodded and went to the faucet they showered under. He quickly wet the shirt and approached his brother again. When he knelt down Connor had his eyes shut.

"Connor. Help me get yer pants off. Show me the wound." Murphy reached for the buttons of his brother's jeans but received no response, "Connor." He slapped his pale twin's face lightly, trying to jut him back into consciousness.

"Connor, what the fuck are ya doin'." Murphy leaned down to get his ear closer to his brother's mouth; Connor wasn't breathing.

"Connor!" Murphy leaned down press his ear to his twin's chest. No heartbeat.

"Connor this isn't funny. Fucken stop it!' He took Connor's wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. There was none. He flung his brother's arm to his side and slapped both of his hands down on his twin's chest. When he still received no response he took his brother's face in his hands, fingers holding the other's jaw down and forced air down Connor's throat. Nothing happened, so he tried again. Still his brother remained unresponsive, so he did it again, and again. He kneeled beside his twin, staring at the floor as the tragic case of his reality dawned on him. He burst into tears; he wasn't going to take this type of shit from Connor, "What the fuck is wrong with ya?!" he yelled, shoving his brother off of the mattress, "You weren't supposed to fucken do this!"

Murphy climbed atop of his twin's body and pressed their foreheads together, "Connor!" he yelled between sobs, "Why would ya fucken do this?!" Murphy's hands fist in Connors shirt, "You left me!"

All of his life the youngest of the MacManus twins had never known what it was like to lose a loved one. They had lost their father at a young age and had grown together without him. In school and as a young adult he had never felt the need to find a girlfriend, women simply didn't interest him. He had never loved and lost. There was only the love he felt for his brother, (whom despite the fact that neither knew, always claimed to be the oldest.) Connor acted like the oldest, and he was treated as such. Murphy didn't mind, it was comforting knowing he'd have someone always watching over him. And that's how it was supposed to be. Connor was always supposed to be there. But now he wasn't, and Murphy wasn't going to take that. He climbed off of his brother and headed towards the fire escape, he needed air.

"No." he whimpered to no one, "No. I'm gonna smoke and when I come back, yer gonna tell me to get you something 'ta eat. An' I'm gonna tell ya to go fuck yerself." He didn't look back at the body, instead he shakily reached for his pack of cigarettes; it had been crushed when he was slammed into the wall but the cigarettes were still good. After a few tries he managed to steady his hands enough to light one. He took two long drags from it before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with his foot.

The streets below were empty, as no one dared to be on them when night fell. Connor and Murphy had gone along anyway because they didn't have much of a choice. Not to mention both of them felt completely safe when they had the other there. But when Murphy really thought about it, the attack wasn't something entirely out of the blue. They had just rid the world of an Italian mafia boss. With some of the lower ranking members still out there, it wasn't too surprising they sent someone after them. They just weren't expecting it. They should have thought their plan out more before they went in. _Stupid Connor_, Murphy thought as he wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

He didn't want to look back into the flat, and at the same time that's exactly what he wanted to do. He was half convinced that if he turned back he'd find Connor stripping his bloodied clothes and slowly moving towards the shower to wash any injuries he had obtained. That's how things should be. His mind flashed images of his brother on the floor beside the mattress. The images bore the actuality of the situation into his mind, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make it go away. Connor was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. He told himself that he hated his twin for that, but he knew that was a lie. He could never hate Connor.

Murphy didn't go back inside, he couldn't bring himself to. Instead he remained on the fire escape for the rest of the night. He went through his cigarettes quickly and nearly choked a few times. It was hard to smoke when your throat was too tight and your eyes stung with tears. He would fall asleep for minutes at a time, and eventually woke with a start when the sun began to come up. He managed to get himself down onto the quiet street using the fire escape. He didn't want to go through the flat. His hand rummaged through his jacket pocket and he fished out his sunglasses. There was no sun out, but he put them on anyway, keeping his head down. He never liked making direct eye contact with anyone on a regular basis, much less now that his eyes were bloodshot.

Ignoring the angered looks he received from people he bumped into, Murphy made his way to the payphone down the block. He stuck his hand back into his jacket pocket and let his thumb graze over the edge of the business card he had there. Once he reached the phone he dug through his pocket for some loose change and pulled out the small card.

A phone call to the police would have raised all kinds of questions. Another silent prayer went out to heaven, thanking God that he and his brother had the sort of contacts they had. The phone began to ring. The voice on the other line answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Mister Smecker, it's Murphy MacManus." His voice was toneless, dead.

"Hey, kid! How- " Paul sounded amused, but Murphy really didn't want to talk for very long, plus he didn't have much change to use.

"It's Connor. He's-" Murphy took a breath, "Dead."

"What? How?"'

"I don't want ta talk about it. Can ya get someone to take him away, please." His voice remained unchanging. He lifted his sunglasses a little to rub his eyes, they were bloated and it felt awkward to blink.

"Yeah sure, kid. I'll go myself." Paul's tone changed completely, from what he had said he sounded genuinely concerned.

"Thanks." He hung up the phone and proceeded to walk back to the flat. It was too early to head to the bar, and he didn't really have anywhere else to go. He arrived much faster than he had hoped but couldn't work up the courage to walk inside. He settled for sitting on the ground across from the door. His back rested on the concrete wall as he stared at the peeling faded paint. His mind went blank, and soon the door faded away.

The clicking of shoes was what woke him. He looked up to see Agent Smecker and a team of three other men walking towards him. He stared until they reached him.

"You okay, kid? You don't look so good." Paul kneeled down beside Murphy and received a dead stare in response. "Listen, we'll take him down to the nearest hospital, and in a couple days you can come by to the station and tell us what happened so we can call it in and you can get started on funeral plans."

Murphy's eyes widened. Funeral plans. Connor was dead, really completely dead.

"Ma." Murphy breathed out, causing Paul to scrunch his face up and stand in response to the morning breath, "I have to tell ma."

"I'm really sorry for your loss. Do what you have to do, and get some rest. You really do look like shit." Paul walked inside the flat with the other men and Murphy watched them remove Connor's corpse from the room. It reminded him of the time he was taken from Connor by the Russians. Connor did everything in his power to make sure Murphy ended up alright. He wished with all his might he could return the favour.

After the men had all left, Murphy slowly walked into the flat. It seemed so big and empty now. The gap between his bed and the shower appeared wider as he walked from one point to the other. He turned on the shower, not bothering to remove any of his clothing and sat on the floor below it, his head in his hands. Ice cold water poured down on him and soaked his clothes but it didn't help him forget, not even for a second. He bit his lip, fighting the tears that threatened to come. He lost that fight, and he would continue crying and screaming out in agony until he passed out again.

As Murphy's eyes closed, another pair like his opened. They stared up at a bright blue sky filled with clouds you'd only see on hallmark cards. They blinked once, twice, and a third time in confusion. It wasn't until the owner of those eyes heard rustling beside him that he turned. People surrounded him, curiously staring. He furrowed his brows and was about to ask what the crowd was staring at when a familiar voice yelled out his name.

"Out of the way! I know him, he's my friend!" the voice became louder as its owner neared the front of the group of people.

"Roc?" Connor asked.


End file.
